


Ghosts

by whatkindofnameisella



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Critical Role Spoilers, F/M, Mentions of Blood, critical role c2 ep 86, happy widojest cannonization everyone!, mentions of gore, references to trauma, something i dug up and edited in celebration, the we're here with you scene but its from jesters perspective and angsty as all hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22917955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatkindofnameisella/pseuds/whatkindofnameisella
Summary: It’s been hours and Caleb is still walking like a ghost in this city, Jester thinks. She watches him walk as they are escorted, gore still fresh on his boots as he treads on these cobblestone streets, and while his body is walking his eyes are downcast and his brows are furrowed in a way that says his mind somewhere else overworking itself on ways things could go wrong. He is scared, here but not here, feelings shoved to the side to make room for a knotted black ball of memories. And he is a ghost.Jester wants to help the hurting. She decides to hold Caleb's hand. Spoilers for campaign 2 episode 86.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 12
Kudos: 70





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO HAPPY WIDOJEST CONFIRMATION DAY!!!! There's been a lot of discourse but more importantly also a lot of great content spurred on by this, so id thought id focus on the amazing happiness of it all and join in! I first wrote this back after ep 86 and for some reason decided i didn't like it i guess? anyways, 'tis dusted off, edited, and posted here for some celebration! angst ahoy lads, please enjoy :)

It’s been hours and Caleb is still walking like a ghost in this city, Jester thinks. She watches him walk as they are escorted, gore still fresh on his boots as he treads on these cobblestone streets, and while his body is walking his eyes are downcast and his brows are furrowed in a way that says his mind somewhere else overworking itself on ways things could go wrong. He is scared, here but not here, feelings shoved to the side to make room for a knotted black ball of memories. And he is a ghost. 

It hurts to watch him walk like this. She wants to make it better. She does not know how. 

But she wants to.

It’s a silly idea (he is here but not here, remember), but she still walks up and takes his hand in hers, warm and rough and fragile. He starts at the action, and oh, they are covered in gore and blood and injuries and bruises that go far beneath the skin, but it is a sight for sore eyes in a way that few things have ever been for her. And his blue eyes are clouded and distant but they are looking at _her,_ and maybe, just _maybe_ – 

“Hey,” and her voice is fragile because she is broken and hurting too, she is not the only one whose smiles are paper thin, “We’re here with you.”

He looks to her with some sort of disbelief and gratitude blossoming on his face and his blue eyes soften the slightest and for a lovely, sublime moment she has done the trick – he is no longer a ghost but a person who is broken and hurting and holding her hand. Their smiles are paper thin and they are covered in gore and blood and injuries that will stay with them past today but they are not alone, they are holding each other’s hand, fragile but tight, and it is enough, for this moment, to not be alone or somewhere else but next to each other, next to the Nein, and – 

It is over in a second. The sweet syrupy disbelief is gone and his eyes are hard and she has to remember that he is a ghost in this city, he is here but not here, and he cannot be here because the being here makes his soul ache with the scars this place has left on him, scars that she does not have, that none of them have, and it is an unbearable feeling. She has to remember that as much as she wants to make it better she does not know how, and that it will not be tomorrow or the next day but time and time before she does. 

He smiles at her, guarded and wan and Caleb but not, and all she can do is return the smile, dripping with every last bit of honey she can muster. And there is a moment where he is still holding on to her hand, fragile and warm and crumbling ever so slightly at the seams but hers, _hers_. In this fleeting, serene moment where he has let his charred heart stay exposed and held in her grasp she is given the small and wonderful hope that she has helped him after all, guarded smiles and Caleb but not Caleb and all. And then he is pulling his hand away, slowly and decidedly and like every little action is on delay, and the feeling is like a punch to the stomach leaving her helpless and aching and strikingly alone.

She swallows the smile on her face – sets her mouth into a thin, resigned line and leaves the worry to stay somewhere behind her eyes before catching up on the few steps she’s missed standing there.

They walk down the cobblestone streets of this city where Caleb is a ghost. He is next to her. And he is so very far away.


End file.
